As you may already know, I’ve been having some trouble getting haircuts here in Germany. I’m still learning the metric system, and the fact that a centimeter in length is nowhere near as long as an inch. Also, I speak in broken German, so when I want a ‘high fade,’ it sounds like I’m asking for a ‘lofty shrivel.’

Out of frustration, I asked my wife to write a note describing, in perfect German, the kind of haircut I wanted. This note worked wonderfully at first; I walked into my usual ‘Fast Cuts,’ handed the note over to the goth chick with the bad forearm tattoos, and received a decent version of the haircut described. Unfortunately, because it involved scissors — in addition to the usual electric razor — the price jumped from €9 euros to €22 euros. I felt this was a bit extreme, so I vowed to try a different hairdresser.

A month later, with my hair so big and puffy I looked like a member of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, I walked into a little hairdresser around the corner from our apartment. Now, this was a Turkish hairdresser, and it was full of burly Turkish men who were doing more horsing around and shit talking than actual hair cutting. You can imagine the blank stares I got when I handed my note to one of the three hairdressers. This particular gentleman chuckled, making it clear he could not read it. (To this day I am unsure if he truly was illiterate in German, or if he was just being a dick.) A young Turkish kid jumped up from the waiting area and proudly read my note aloud to the entire room. Everyone had a nice laugh about it. The hairdresser nodded his understanding, repeated “Funf miiILLLlliiimeters” to dramatic effect, and gestured for me to sit in the barber chair.

What followed was a scary clusterfuck of English, German and Turkish, if you were to translate everything directly into English:

HAIRDRESSER: “So, where you come from?” *Proceeding to attach the appropriate extension onto an electric razor and peel my scalp like a Doner kebab.*

ME: “I come from the ‘ooo-ess-ahh,’ uh, America… Portland, Oregon, correct? It is up, northwest…” *Gesturing upward and to the left with both hands in the air.*

*Once the sides and back of my head were shaved, he attached a smaller extension and cut around my hairline. That’s when I noticed the straight razor on the counter. Close proximity to weapons any kind send me directly into fight-or-flight mode, so if someone were to menace me with one, I would either break that person’s wrist and stomp on their brain… or run screaming like a little girl in a tutu with a caterpillar on her arm.*

ME: “So, uh… from where come you, formally speaking? I mean, well then, from come you where?”

HAIRDRESSER: *Gesturing to one of the other hairdressers and speaking in Turkish* “I come from him.” *Everyone started laughing for some reason.*

ME: “I don’t understand… I mean, I understand not.”

HAIRDRESSER: “Turkey.”

*That was when the hairdresser picked up the straight razor, at which point I became visibly nervous, my complexion fading from ‘Ivory Apprehension’ to ‘Eggshell Uncomfortable.’*

HAIRDRESSER: *Smiling and bringing the razor close* “Don’t move, eh?”

ME: “Ha ha… ‘kay.”

*The hairdresser proceeded to shave around the perimeter of my hairline, focusing mostly on the back of my neck. He moved the razor in quick little strokes, handling its edge with feline grace. I made the mistake of picturing how easily he could take my eye out, or how quickly he might give me a Sweeney Todd, and it was then my complexion faded from ‘Eggshell Uncomfortable’ to ‘Chartreuse Sputum.’*

ME: *Thinking frantically, Which president is least likely to have messed with Turkey? My life is on the line here, and I’ve got a 50/50 chance of survival.* “…uh, Barack Obama.”

HAIRDRESSER: *Shouting* “MOTHER FUCKER!”

ME: *Oh my God, I am going to die.* “What? I don’t know! Who do you like?” *Thinking, Did the President bomb Turkey lately? Why don’t I follow the news back home more closely? Please put the razor down, please put the razor down…*

HAIRDRESSER: *After rattling off some particularly guttural Turkish and gesturing toward the TV in the corner, I understood this man was mostly kidding, but did, in fact, prefer George Bush.* “So, it is ‘Fuck Bush’ then, eh, Mr. America?”

ME: “I… I really don’t know man.” *Now more mystified than terrified, thinking, Why in the sweet fires of hell would a Turkish man support George W. Bush?*

*The haircut concluded in merciful silence, with me in no way comforted, and the hairdresser wearing a shit-eating grin. He showed me the back of my head with a handheld mirror, I nodded my approval and we approached the cash register.*

HAIRDRESSER: “So! That will be thirty euros!”

*I paused, wallet in hand, thinking, That is way more expensive than I had anticipated, but one cannot be frugal when shopping for uncut throats.*

HAIRDRESSER: “I kid! From me to you. It is eight euros.”

ME: “Eight euros, okay.” *Thinking, That is way cheaper than I had anticipated.*

*I tipped him an extra euro (which is actually a really nice tip here in Germany), wished him a good day and shagged-ass right the hell out of there.*

When I came home, I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and discovered I’d received what was absolutely the best haircut I’d had in Germany thus far. Maybe it was so good because I finally had my hair cut by a man, and who better than a man to understand the subtleties of a man’s haircut? Maybe Turkish hairdressers are just really talented? I don’t know, and I shan’t question my good fortune. However, it wasn’t so long ago I would have laughed had you suggested I might someday move to Germany and switch political parties at the provocation of a knife-wielding Turk.

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I got long hair, and even at my age I can get away with my hair dropping nearly as much down as my b…s :P
Though I can vaguely remember times when hair surpassed the bs on their way down.
Gravity does exist – and time is proof of that. It seems to work differently on hair and bs though :(

First I sad, my hair drops down nearly as far as my b.. _ you answered: Haw haw haw haw! I thought it was just me!
And now I am wondering, if you have catholic breasts, too – you know, that kind that, when you open the bra, drop to the knees .. ;P

Dude, I was TOTALLY gonna say this, and he beat me to it! This is some funny shit, man, for real! If you screenwrote this expat sitcom this way, I would totally watch it! The part that kills me (even more than the rest) is when you hand him your note from your German wife, telling him exactly what you want, in German! Hilarious! It is so like a schoolboy, taking a note to his teacher. I bet you do sometimes feel like a child over there, not completely understanding everybody. If I’m ever over there again, I will look you up, you and I will go have a bier at a biergarten, and we will speak to each other in ‘Murican, dammit!!! LOL. Keep ’em comin’, buddy!

I have considered writing a screenplay based upon the experiences my wife and I have accrued over the past few years. I think it is highly likely that I will wrote one, and you — my awesome readers — will be the first to see it. (Right after my German wife, of course.)

I got an excellent cut in Italy, everything fine until it came to settle up. He was asking for more than the haircut + beard trim on the sign. Finally Jean popped up with “OH! He gave you a ‘style’.” If you encounter a barber in Tuscany whose only English is “Ees STYYYYYL!”, you now know where he learned it.

In Japan the showmanship is amazing. Hot towels being snapped, tossed, wrapped & used to massage your scalp, Barbers discussing the right instrument to use. A bit of humor that transcends language issues. A wonderful cut & experience.

Great post! I totally relate, only I had a Mozambican hair dresser who cut off my locks. But unlike you, I didnt get my happy ending. They gave me a mullet. Had to hide in the bush for at least a year before going public!

I had a very similar experience here in Munich with a Turkish frisseur – only my neck stung for days afterwards. 8€ here too. Did they offer you free hot tea? I think that´s what it was….(Funny enough, I moved here from PDX as well about 5 months ago… – luv the blog; keep it up!)

So there is only one moral then to this story: You will have to go back to the Turkish hairdresser for your next cut as he was both, the cheapest and the best. Hmmmm, what a conundrum! Maybe you could just pretend to have defected to the Republican camp. Or you try and educate the guy that the likes of W would love his Turkish bottoms deported back to Turkey if they could. So many options…

By the way, living in Africa now I have yet to brave an African hairdresser. I simply don’t need my hair braided or straightened…

I live in Cape Verde now. I know, zou have no idea where that is, no-one does. It’s a group of islands in the Atlantic Ocean off the western coast of Senegal. Oh for crying out loud, just look it up :)

As a German, I have been working with Muslims for years, and I can assure you they are pretty harmless. At least none of them has exploded around me so far. Watching a Turkish hairdresser wield a razor means watching an expert at his job. ^^

Great story. I could feel your fear sitting helpless in that chair with others watching and probably talking about you throughout the whole haircut. Glad you survived and got a great cut. But, please don’t switch political parties. BTW, I shared your link on http://jesswitkins.wordpress.com/. Check it out. :)

Snort! My Brasilian husband once got the WORST haircut of his life in Puerto Rico. His accent leads people to think he speaks Spanish, not Portuguese. The barber rattled off something that sounded like “Eschebe?” and G nodded. Came out looking like an egg. I mean “huevo.” We still laugh about that!

I’ve always spoken German but tell them at first that it’s not my mother tongue. So most of the sessions are me nodding/shaking my head/pointing at different parts of my head. Seems to work though despite how unorganised it sounds!

I’m afraid I wouldn’t say I have any good tips with the 10 years advantage I have! I know one thing I do do is try and learn 5 words/phrases a day (from conversations or from reading, such as the news on the Straßenbahnen) and then try and use them in conversations!

Otherwise, just practise, practise, practise! How long have you been learning?

I started learning on my own and with books, computer programs and a little community college class back at the very start of 2011, so when I arrived in Germany I had about 1.5 years of German language training. As of today, my total language training time (including my new A1 integration course) is 2.5 years. This is, hopefully, why I am a bit ahead of the rest of my A1 class, but still not conversant. Definitely not fluent.

I keep a daily list as well, so thank you for mentioning that.

I’ve said it many times over, but if I could give all of my life’s savings to download the entire German language into my brain like in the Matrix, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I’ve given up. I’m growing my hair like a heavy metal guitarist again. Your bravery is admirable, my dear man.
Question – did he have a strop to sharpen his straight razor? I have a magnificent straight razor but alas, do not have the strop to sharpen it on.

Hello! Brick House Chick sent me over here and I’m so glad she did. What a great storyteller you are, I’m just sad it was at such a deathly cost. And here I thought my experience in the Korean jimjilbong was interesting…LOL

Fantastic! I cannot pass by a Turkish hair salon in Mainz without there being at least 5 dudes in there sitting around, presumably, bs-ing. I commend you on your bravery; I too am frightened they would perhaps give me the haircut of my life! :-D

Okay… here we go… this was by far the best and funniest hair-dresser story I’ve heard and I was really laughing tears…
You made yourself a new friend! Go back there for the next haircut before he’ll be insulted that you didn’t. *grin*

LOL , that was hilarious.
For years I’ve been living here in Japan, I think I have visited a hair salon 2 times only . The first one was to have my hair straightened which took more than 6 hours and the next was to get a haircut. The second visit, i told the girl to cut about 2-3 inches of my hair from the bottom but she thinks I have too much hair and decided to cut it too short for my taste.

I had a similar experience last year. Mine was somewhat compounded by the fact that I am an Army veteran and did multiple tours in Iraq. Which my barber listened to happily before grabbing the razor and proclaiming, “I am also from America, from the state of Iraq.” I thought I hid my panic pretty well, but not well enough because he then said, “Just relax, it’s no problem.” Like you, that was the best damn haircut I’ve had in country and I now patronize that establishment regularly.

sehr lustig man :) Me? I’m still looking for the perfect haircut, preferably by a Turkish man barber cause the Germanistic styles these days kind of look … hmmm weird. And I’d love to be able to just walk into a barbershop, sit down, read a bit and then sit down in the chair and get it done … all without having to make appointments.

Nice story man. I’ve been living in Hannover for 3 months and I still haven’t ventured to get my hair cut. Mind sharing where this place is? I’m getting to the point where almost any hairstyle is better then mine now.

Oh yes, turkish humour can be challenging sometimes, but if you get used to it, it can be funny ; D I am actually a turk and I can understand that you felt like you had the best haircut. If there is one profession the turks are good at (apart from cooking food) it is shaving and cutting hair ;)

ha, I’ve lived this haircut on more than one occasion. Then always walked out with a G.I. Joe’s High & Tight regardless of what I said. Could’ve just ordered a wash and comb and still would’ve walked out looking like I just graduated basic.

ROFL! This is wonderful – and now I really want to visit this Turkish hairdresser myself, just for the experience. *g*

I went to a hairdresser who refused to cut my colleague’s hair becxause of a disagreement over the desirable style, once; he expressed his horror at what she wanted him to do, told her her sweater “wasn’t her” either, and then sent her away because he was now completely creatively blocked, thanks. He gave me an *excellent* haircut and a hugely entertaining show – kept inspecting me with narrowed eyes and enthusing “es wird! es wird!” – but then I didn’t try to argue with him. *g*

But I have to tell you something that may scare you: I am German, I get my hair cut, and experience and cultural instinct tell me that 1 EUR is, in fact, not a good tip for a hairdresser, particularly not one as cheap as your Turkish one. When I go to a very cheap hairdresser, I usually tip at least 3 and up to 5 EUR. A quick survey among my German friends and acquaintances has corroborated this…